


Memorial

by HaileMarie



Series: SteveBucky Oneshots [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Character Death, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Memorial Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-07-11 06:11:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7032490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HaileMarie/pseuds/HaileMarie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky pays his respects to the fallen on Memorial Day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Memorial

May generally wasn’t too hot of a month, but that doesn’t mean it can’t have it’s hot days. Of course, it had to be hot on the day that everyone else would be outside doing something.

Memorial Day. 

Bucky didn’t think too much about going out during the day since there would be masses of sheeple grazing the streets. So he’d wait until sun down to visit his friends at the Memorial. Every year they put something up for the brave and noble Howling Commandos of World War II. 

He sits outside on the balcony in the blistering sun. He likes it though, given that he spent the better part of the last five decades frozen in cryostasis. With him on the balcony is Sam, who hasn’t said one word to Bucky for the hour they’ve been sitting out. 

“You can come with me tonight, if you want.” Bucky asks him, feeling awkward that he broke the silence. 

“Nah, man. I told you. You need to go alone. Pay your respects.” 

Bucky didn’t reply back. He’s glad that Sam said that. Every other day, someone _needed_ to go with him. It usually ends up being Natasha accompanying him. He hasn’t had time alone at the memorial in months. 

Bucky stands from his chair and picks up his drink, “Do you want to get something to eat before I go?”

“I’m good, but thanks. Will you be back for fireworks?”

“Don’t wait for me. I’ve come to dislike fireworks in the recent months.” Bucky replies. 

“I’ll let everyone know. See you ‘round, Buchanan.” Sam responds with his rather annoying nickname for Bucky. 

Bucky parts ways with his friend Sam to grab his wallet and head out the door. Sam’s been nice enough to offer up his place after what happened. Bucky couldn’t go home. Not yet. It hurt too much.

Like he guessed earlier, the streets of New York are filled with people not knowing where they want to go. Every other corner has someone selling a flag or something with the American Flag on it. He tries to ignore it, but he can’t help getting a little angry. These people don’t know shit. They go about their days, going to work, getting their paycheck, going home to their families. They’ve never fought for freedom. They’ve never had to give orders under gunfire. They’ve never seen their platoon blow up in front of them. They’ve never watched a soldier die in their arms. 

He shouldn’t be too quick to judge. Plenty of people could be looking at him saying the same thing. Especially the many men and women veterans he finds on the streets, helpless. Usually he takes some of Stark’s money and generously has him make an anonymous donation to the homeless veterans. But sometimes, to help his conscious, he uses his own money. He’s had friends help him get through his rough patches, but some of these people don’t even have that. 

“Anything helps.” One woman says, missing a leg. “God bless.” She repeats as people pass. He looks down at her cup and finds a total sum of two dollars. He pulls out his wallet, _he wasn’t going to eat anyway_ , and puts in 20 dollars. She looks up with a gracious smile. 

“Thank you, sir.” 

“Thank you for your service, ma’am.” He replies back with a smile on his face. She shakes his hand and wishes him a good rest of his evening. 

 

People laugh and chatter around him as he walks up to the memorial. He stands far back to get a good look at his deceased friends. They took him out since he’s not dead any more. People walk past it, not even really paying attention to it. Bucky can feel his anger rise up in his chest again. _People don’t get it_ he says to himself. 

“Let’s go see the Captain America statue!” One kids yells next to him. Bucky looks down to find a kid, scrawny and blonde. He looks up to what he assumes to be his mother, who looks tired in the eyes. 

“Okay, but we have to be quick if we want to get back in time for fireworks.” She tells her son. He jumps up and down as he holds her hand. Bucky smirks at them as they walk by him. 

He soon follows suit, but as he steps closer he can feel his body react like he’s seeing a dead body up ahead. _It’s just a statue, Bucky. You can do this._

There it is, high up. Steve holding his shield. Stark insisted that they paint it rather than it being the beautiful bronze like the others. But it was Steve’s idea to have this memorial in the first place. For people to come and remember. People seem to have forgotten why Steve wanted it here. People come here to be silent and remember, not to see the statue of Captain America and takes pictures to put online to feed the ego. Bucky’s stomach turns in on itself as he stares up at Steve’s face for too long. 

The sun begins to set and people begin to leave the memorial. Bucky takes it upon himself to walk down the street to the graveyard. All the people visiting family begin to leave, the undertaker rallying them out. Bucky makes one look at him and nods. The undertaker nods back. He made a deal with him months ago about visiting past visitor hours. “You deserve it,” The undertaker said over and over to him. 

He slowly walks down the path from oldest to newest graves. He lingers at each one, reading the names and dates. He wonders what their stories are and how they got there, especially if they are younger. War, of course, but did they die from disease in the trenches? Were they brave and took a bullet to save his friend next to him? _Did they fall of a train…_

Down at the end he can see the fresh grave. He know’s it's his destination because he’s done it a hundred times. His feet begin to hurt from all the walking, but he ignores it and trudges through it like the good soldier he is. 

He stands in front of the grave and looks down at the new flowers placed there. Natasha must have been here earlier. 

_Steven G. Rogers. July 4th, 1918-2016. Beloved friend, partner, and the voice of hope and freedom_.

Next to Steve’s grave reads Bucky’s own name. _James B. Barnes. March 10th, 1917-_. 

Both graves were Sam’s idea. Bucky couldn’t pick them out. He could barely talk when Steve died. 

He takes a seat next to the tall gravestone, “Hey, Stevie.” he says as scoots up next to it. The sun is just under below the horizon now, and Bucky can hear fireworks already going off in the distance. 

“They don’t know the meaning of this day, do they Stevie?” Bucky asks, not getting a reply. He looks over to read the name and lets out a heavy sigh. 

“This day felt different during the war. People were quiet. No one was on the streets, people stayed in and mourned. Do you remember that?” He asks again, still no answer. He doesn’t ever get an answer from Steve. 

“God, things move too fast. Maybe that’s why people are like this. They forget to slow down. I’m already falling for that trap.”

The sun sets, and people don’t waste their time with the fireworks. Loud cracks break in the sky and release beautiful colors and shapes. Bucky doesn’t dare to look up. His heart is already racing in his chest thinking about if he’ll be triggered by the loud noises. 

“I wish I wasn’t so scared of everything.” Bucky says.

“You don’t have to be.” Steve says in Bucky’s head. He looks up, but sees no Steve. 

“But I am.” Bucky replies back, in hopes that Steve will say something else to him. Nothing. 

Bucky traces his fingers over Steve’s name and begins to weep. “Come back to me, Stevie. Please? I promise I’ll get better. If I get better, will you come back?” He starts to plead. His therapist said he’d do this. He didn’t believe it at first, the whole grieving stages. “I’ll be different” he told her. 

He was terribly wrong.

“Come on, Stevie.” Bucky cries. He hugs the gravestone and doesn’t let go. Thank god no one is around to pull him away like he’s some maniac crying over Steve Rogers. He’d plead that he’s the man supposed to be buried next to him, but they’d see him as some man with long hair and dead eyes. That’s who he is now, a shadow of who he used to be. A shadow of who people remember and see the great Bucky Barnes as. 

A hand presses down on Bucky’s shoulder as he weeps. He flinches and looks up in hopes to see Steve standing there, alive and healthy. But he sees Sam’s concerned eyes instead. 

“Maybe I should have come with you.” He says, taking a seat next to Bucky. “You shouldn’t be out here alone, Buchanan.” 

“I know.” Bucky wipes his tears and sits up. Sam wraps an arm around him to hold him. 

Bucky didn’t really remember the last time he’d been hugged by a friend. Sure, Steve gave him hugs, but Steve also gave him other things, too. Sam is the first friend he’s had in a long, long time. 

“I miss him.” Sam states as he watches the fireworks. 

“I miss him too much.” Bucky sniffles, still not able to hold back all his tears. Sam doesn’t reply back. Bucky likes that. 

They sit in silence, just like they did hours before, looking up at the fireworks. For a few moments, Bucky forgets why he was scared to look at them. He forgets, just for a moment, why he’s even there. 

“Thanks, Sam.” 

“Don’t mention it, Buchanan.”


End file.
